Their Stolen Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 7)

SULLY

It had taken three hours for the sheriff to be summoned, inspect Benson’s body and for us to be questioned about the incident. Millard’s money and standing helped, and no one was thrown into jail before being questioned. While her father might be an asshole, he’d ensured Mary was kept outside and away from the body, as well as the first to recount to the lawman what had occurred. Parker, Kane and I offered our information next, and quickly, too, for Millard was insisting Mary had been through enough and that I take her home. He’d said she could succumb to hysteria from her ordeal. While I doubted a bout of that, it showed the man had at least one caring bone in his body.

It had taken three more hours to ride back to Bridgewater. She’d sat in my lap the entire journey, but remained quiet, even falling asleep with her cheek against my chest. I’d calmed during the journey, becoming more at ease the further we distanced ourselves from Butte, the longer I held her. On the ranch, everything was quiet and Mary was safe. Unless she went off on some harebrained idea again. Before the day was out, Parker and I would ensure she would never do something like that again.

Standing outside the front door, I took in the peaceful view—prairie grasses waving in the soft breeze, snow-capped mountains in the distance. The only sounds were the grasshoppers and the wind.

As Mary walked hand in hand with Parker to the house, I knew I was right where I belonged. I was with my family. By marrying Mary, we’d become just what I’d always longed for. Soon, we’d make the family even larger. I wanted to see Mary become round with child. Mine. Ours.

Very possessively, we took our bride directly to the washroom. As I began to fill the tub with water from the sun-heated cistern, Parker helped her out of her clothes. When she’d stripped off her dress, I made note that she wasn’t wearing her petticoat or drawers. It pleased me that she followed that dictate even while we’d been gone.

We bathed her then, Parker and I kneeling at either side of the tub, using soap and our hands to wash away the dirt and filth of the day.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Should we drown you instead?” Parker asked, running a cloth over her pale shoulder.

She looked down at the water. There were no bubbles, only the scent of roses that came from the bar of soap in my hand.

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“I was angry,” I admitted. “The journey home has tempered it.”

I hadn’t just been angry. I’d been frustrated and afraid and… fuck, so many emotions had roiled through me. When we’d walked in Millard’s house and heard the crash from the hallway, we’d followed the sound of raised voices. There were more than two people in that locked room, meaning it wasn’t just a little father-daughter discussion. Our bride, in the invariably short time we’d known her, had never been one to throw tantrums, and I doubted she’d have started then. I’d given Parker a quick glance, and he’d nodded, his jaw tight. Only a door separated us from Mary. Lifting my leg, I’d kicked right beside the doorknob, forcing the wood to splinter around the solid lock.

The sight before us when the door had slammed open… fuck.

“We were so scared that something had happened to you. Then Benson—”

Parker didn’t say more than that, just had Mary tilt her head back so he could wash her hair. In that position, I could see that her neck held no marks from the attack.

“Better?” Parker asked, wringing the water from the long strands of her hair when he finished.

I’d just been content watching.

She nodded, gave us a smile. “Much.”

“Good, then it is time for your punishment,” I said as I stood, grabbing a bath sheet from the nearby stool.

“Punishment?” Mary asked, looking up at me, a frown creasing her brow.

She looked perfect. Whole. Unharmed. Her hair was a wet mass over one shoulder. Her cheeks were bright with color, which was much more agreeable than earlier when they were pale with shock. Beneath the surface of the water, her body was so pale and lush. Her nipples were plump and full, and lower, I could just discern the glint of pale curls at the top of her pussy. I ached to sink into her body, to lose myself in her. As Parker stood, he shifted his cock in his pants and I knew he felt the same. It was time to take her together, to claim her fully. But that had to wait.

“Why should I be punished?”

I held out the sheet and after Parker helped her from the tub, I wrapped her in it. She took the ends and pulled them across her chest, but the fabric became instantly damp and clung to her every curve.

“Why?” Parker asked. He stripped, then climbed into the tub. “Your note only said you went to Butte. Butte! We didn’t know where you were and had to go to a brothel to find you. Out of every woman in the Territory, you should know the type of men who frequent that place.”

He grabbed the unscented soap and scrubbed his body.

“I’ve been safe every time I went in the past,” she countered, watching Parker’s hands at work. “Up until I married you, I lived in Butte. I never went about chaperoned once I left the schoolroom.”

“In the past you weren’t married to us and were not under our protection,” I added, moving to sit on the bench beneath the window to tug off my boots. “Going to the brothel alone is not your only indiscretion. You traveled all the way to Butte by yourself, then went to confront your father. Again, alone! You were unprepared for

the worst consequence.”

Parker stood and stepped from the tub. He grabbed another bath sheet and began to dry himself.